Zombie Appears At Doorstep Who: Patrick Bateman and Open. What: Patrick's day off and morning routine, interrupted by an unexpected visitor. Where: Patrick's apartment, X-clusive, and apartments again. When: March 19th; morning. Rating: R ?
DEET DEET DEET.
The digital alarm clock that Patrick had purchased from Sears went off, just as scheduled. Patrick rolled over and slammed his palm against the 'snooze' button, but he was already awake. It took him a few minutes to attempt to mentally prepare himself for the day. Finding his resolve lacking, he pulled open the first drawer of the cabinet and pulled out a prescription bottle of Xanax. After he dry swallowed two, Patrick rolled out of bed, pulled off his Ralph Lauren boxers, and wandered into the shower.
Everything went normally. He lathered his hair with Vidal Sassoon shampoo and conditioner and scrubbed vigorously with a honey-almond body wash. After applying a moisturizer (Clinique) and eye balm, he washed out his mouth out with Listerine, brushed his teeth with Colgate for three minutes, and then rinsed again with Plax. He'd already flossed last night (or at least he dimly remembered doing so), so he left the box of mint-flavored floss neglected in the medicine cabinet.
Patrick turned on his Panasonic television set as he went to go get his breakfast. However, every time he turned the channel, he was greeted with nothing but snow. "What the fuck," he hissed beneath his breath as he jammed his thumb repeatedly against the arrow key. Snow, snow, more snow. Irritated, Patrick went through his shelf of VHS tapes and pulled out a tape that read Gina Loves Cock on the label, but was actually an episode of The Patty Winters Show since he'd accidentally recorded it over the porn yesterday. He'd been pretty steamed about it at the time, but now he was grateful since he hadn't actually gotten to see that episode yet. Patrick popped it into the VCR as he went into the kitchen to warm up a bran muffin, and munched on a crisp Japanese pear (Sotheby's, 5$), as he watched the episode. The Patty Winters Show that morning was about canned vegetables. Patrick watched with rapt fascination as he smeared some apple butter on the muffin, gobbled it down, and then chugged a bottle of Evian.
He didn't have work that day, and so Patrick donned black lycra shorts with a white waistband, and a matching lycra tank top with running shoes. He put in the Talking Heads tape, More Songs About Buildings and Food, a classic, into his Walkman and packed his gym bag. He listened to the tape and felt pretty optimistic, probably a result of the Xanax.
The streets were strangely empty, and Patrick quickly gave up any hope of finding a cab. He wondered if there was some kind of strike, but couldn't feel too upset about it thanks to the Xanax. He did a quick warm-up in the streets, and once his blood got pumping he jogged down to X-clusive, which was actually not that far away from the American Gardens building where he lived.
Patrick was pleased that the dumpy receptionist wasn't there to make eyes at him. He made a beeline to the locker room and stashed his gym bag, not even noticing that the locker room was also empty. He did notice that the stair master didn't have a line. Patrick quickly looked both ways, and noticed that the entire gym was empty. Now his brow furrowed in confusion, but then he quickly shrugged it off and mounted the machine. After 20 minutes of cardio, Patrick weight trained both with machines and free weights, then headed back into the locker room for another shower. He changed into some Perry Ellis boxers and an off-white cotton shirt by Polo. He then put on a dark navy Australian wool sportcoat with cognac colored stripes by Valentino couture with matching slacks, and leather cap-toed shoes by Brooks Brothers. After straightening a skinny silk tie in red by Dolce and Gabbana, Patrick removed the uzi he'd kept hidden in his locker and slipped it into his Bottega Veneta gym bag. If the gym was completely empty like this again, there was no point in keeping it there.
The streets were empty as Patrick exited X-clusive, and by that point he was convinced that there was a cab strike. He regretted not buying a car as he hastily made his way back to his apartment.
After Patrick threw his gym clothes into the wash, he felt the need to unwind. He popped in a Bobby McFerrin CD into the player and sat down on the couch, and considered putting an icepack over his eyes since he thought his eyes looked puffy after the work out. However, he then heard an intolerable banging at the door. Patrick tried to ignore it, but after fifteen minutes of solid banging, he thought the Xanax was starting to wear off because it was really starting to annoy him. "Who is it?" He bellowed, and wondered if his Chinese housekeeper had not only forgotten that she wasn't supposed to show up that day, but she'd also forgotten her set of keys. He wasn't sure which was worse.
After ignoring it for another minute, Patrick got up and wandered over to the door. He peered throught he peephole, and saw that it was a woman banging her fists on the door. She was a total hardbody in a skanky Betsy Johnson dress and slingback d'Orsay pumps, but her face read to him as 'brown bag special': her eyes were sunken in and her lips were dehydrated and cracked, peeled back over yellowed, crooked teeth. She seemed to sense his presence, because she started hissing.
Bateman thought a moment, and then went to his closet, where he pulled out a wrench and a six-foot cord of hemp rope. Patrick pulled open the door with his left arm, and before the hardbody could react, he slammed down the wrench onto her head with his right. "I'll teach you to bang on my door you fucking bitch," he growled, like an animal. He beat her head in until it was pulpy and she fell to the ground, twitching. To his surprise, she tried to get up, so Patrick beat her some more until she fell again, and then quickly bound her arms and feet with sections of the rope. He then dragged her in, by her feet, into the kitchen, and then returned to shut the door.